Harry Potter and the Underestimated Best Friend
by ViviTheFolle
Summary: Missing moments, different points of view, unseen events; all centred on Ronald Weasley, written by someone who got tired of all the Ron-bashing. It's the life of an ordinary kid nobody pays much attention to... and that's too bad, because he's quite an extraordinary kid.
1. Introduction

**INTRODUCTION**

Disclaimer:

First and foremost, I'd like to point out that I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I wouldn't be posting my story on a website dedicated to fanfiction, hmm?

So please don't sue me. It's rude. Especially since I'm writing this for free.

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Author's notes:

I originally intended to post this fanfiction on the 1st of September 2017, since it's a meaningful day in the HP fandom. Sadly, I was unable to do so, and thus, I post it now, the 29th of November. Why? Because it's my birthday, and I thus deem this fanfiction as a birthday gift to myself.

I am a die-hard Ron Weasley fan who came across one too many comments bashing my favourite character and I had quite enough of that. I know changing an entire fandom is damn well impossible, but I hope it'll be enough to change at least the way a few people look at the Heart of the Golden Trio.

 _Harry Potter and the Underestimated Best Friend_ is one of several Ron-centric fanfics that I'll be writing… But it'll probably be the one that'll have the highest word count. It's a "missing moments" type of story, along as a character study of sorts.

I am French, and as such I am prone to make mistakes, especially concerning the subtleties of British English. Don't hesitate to point them out! I thank you in advance.

This is how I see the Harry Potter characters. You can disagree with me, but I'd rather have a fair critique than senseless flaming. I'll point flaws and hypocrisy and some of the nastier aspect of characters people may be overly attached to. I promise you, however, that there shall be no bashing; I'll stick closely to canon. Without further ado, I'll let you enjoy the story.


	2. First sight

Ten-years-old William and eight-years-old Charles had their laps full of younger siblings already. Four-year-old Percival was rather calm, but the two-year-old Frederick and George caused enough ruckus to wake up an entire graveyard with.

Arthur Weasley tried his best to shake off the thought of graveyards or, really, anything else that could involve a living being to stop breathing.

Because despite the overwhelming sense of dread that shrouded every thought, despite the little nagging feeling in the back of his mind that every day could be the last, today was a day for joy, as desperate as that sounded.

He looked at his sons with a warm smile. William grimaced, Frederick having caught a strand of his hair and seemingly getting very attached to it; Charles was smiling at their predicament while effortlessly holding George's attempts at putting his tiny fingers in his big brother's nostrils; Percy was sitting away from the twin menaces, fidgeting a bit in his seat and his eyes darting nervously around the room.

It was the first of March, and today the Weasley family was awaiting a newcomer.

Silencing Charms had been plastered around every room and protective wards were bursting with energy; concealment spells had also been one of the topmost priorities. Upstairs, Molly was being assisted by a few elder of the family, and a panicky, slightly over-concerned Arthur had been thrown out of the room unceremoniously and told to watch over his children instead.

"She'll be fine", one of the self-proclaimed midwives had snapped. "I'm not even sure she needs the pain-numbing charm, that one's cooperative for a change." A pointed glare in the happy father's direction had been enough to make him blush into submission. In truth, this had probably been Molly's easiest pregnancy: morning sickness had been rather mild, she had mainly voiced complaints about her back, eaten almost as much as she did when pregnant with the twins, and mostly slept during the last few weeks.

William, as firstborn, had been difficult because of both nerves and unfamiliarity with the situation; Charles had made his mother prone to bouts of anger in which she could get as scary as a dragon; Percival had started rather well, but the last months had been extremely unpleasant and the actual birth had been painful too; and the twins… well, carrying two babies at the same time was an experience that Molly never wanted to go through again, and neither did Arthur for that matter, since he had actually feared for his life during the last weeks.

But this little one had been mellow and peaceful, and Arthur was rather thankful about this.

"When is the baby?" Percival asked from his spot on the couch as he gave his twin brothers a wary look.

"Soon, Percy, soon", Arthur answered as he chanced a glance up the stairs.

The war was making it so very difficult to raise a family – but Molly wanted this, she wished for a little girl of their own, and they had so far had only boys but it was alright. They both wanted their offspring to live in a world where the Dark Lord would be gone, and the Order was making progress, as far as they knew. Albus Dumbledore himself had told them to ignore the battles and to fully live their marriage no matter what happened. Still, they couldn't help but feel guilty, in their little bubble of comfort, surrounded by their children…

Of course, the war still affected them – one month ago Death Eaters had found the safe house they had been hiding in. Explosive curses had flown left and right, the kids had screamed, luckily their little William had been close to the emergency Portkey and Charles had immediately grabbed the twins, or else…

A soft cry, muffled by the Silencing Charms on the door, interrupted his thoughts.

"Dad?" William asked hopefully as Fred let go of his hair. Charlie stood up, gathering George in his arms, and Percy slid off the couch, wringing his little hands together.

"Yes", Arthur answered, his heart already bouncing with anticipation. After five births, you thought the novelty would wear off, yet he still felt tears of joy prickling his eyes.

Usually, one crying baby caused all the other ones in the house to cry as well, but Fred and George were being quite calm, which was a miracle in itself. Their father briefly wondered if this meant they understood the importance of the moment.

After a few minutes, the crying grew quiet, and the improvised midwives got out of the room. Muriel Prewett gave Arthur a stern, warning look, but he altogether ignored it as he guided his children to welcome their new sibling: Percival in his arms, William holding Fred (who was attempting a daring escape in order to stand on his own), Charles following dutifully with George (who was also attempting to escape, apparently wanting to join Fred).

The room had been cleaned and Molly was waiting, cradling the newest Weasley close to her, and she was sniffling a little. Arthur put Percy down, and kissed her cheek, but he saw her smile wasn't entirely reaching her eyes. It could only mean one thing.

It was a boy.

Oh, they would love him all the same, but – Molly really wished for a girl, and they knew they couldn't keep having children all over the place. The Weasley family was not a rich one, and Arthur refused to ask for help from the Prewetts – Fabian and Gideon already had enough on their shoulders with the Order. But it was his wife's wish, she would be so happy to have a little girl to show things to and talk with…

But for now, it could wait, because William had freed Fred and the two-years-old was already trying to make his way to the bundle of sheets gathered in his mother's arms. Arthur chuckled and leaned forward.

He was a rather tall baby. You couldn't really tell, but Arthur had the feeling he was even taller than William had been. He had a long nose; pale, almost delicate diaphanous skin; a tiny tuft of red hair was peeking through the blanket. Apparently sensing the gathering of people around him, the newborn opened his eyes.

Ice blue, crystal blue, cobalt blue, deep sea blue, sapphire blue, so many different blues in these wide orbs that discovered their family for the first time.

Arthur smiled widely.

"What's his name?" Percy asked curiously as he stood on tiptoes to get a better look.

Charlie's eyes lit up, but Molly apparently had other ideas in mind than "First-fire" or "Second-wind" (his suggestions for Fred and George, inspired by a kid's book about friendly dragons).

"Ronald", she said. "Ronnie for short." She kissed his forehead.

"Ronald", Arthur nodded. Now to find the middle name… Molly had given her brothers' to the twins, so he decided to use his favourite brother as well. "Ronald Bilius Weasley."

Charles completed his examination of his newest sibling and looked up at his mum. "Sky-eye would be better", he pouted. Then a thought struck him. "You think he'll fly good?"

"You could teach him, Charlie", William said, before leaning in to smile at little Ronald. "Hello."

"Ronal'", Percival said, then winced. "Ronald", he managed after a few attempts, and then drew himself up proudly.

"Very good, Percy", Molly approved.

Fred and George were trying to pry open the bundle of blankets, so they were quickly scooped up in their father's arms to stop messing with the little one, who had stayed admirably quiet the whole time, blinking and observing all these people of different shapes and sizes buzzing around him.

It was on the first of March that Ronald Bilius Weasley met his family for the first time.


	3. Sister

Eleven-year old William, nine-year old Charles and five-year old Percival were all seated on the couch, each one of them holding three-year old George, three-year old Frederick and one-year old Ronald, respectively.

The twins were squirming in their brother's laps, sometimes punctuating their failed breaks for freedom with "out" or "no". Ronald, having yet to learn speech, was eyeing their antics curiously.

Arthur watched over his brood, exhausted, but glad Molly's pregnancy was going to be over soon.

It was the eleven of August, and the soon-to-be-born Weasley had been making their mother rather temperamental the last few months.

This was a pregnancy comparable with that of Charlie in terms of mood swings and scary temper. Ronnie had been only nine months old when the news had fallen: they had a new child on the way. Molly was absolutely sure she could handle it, and she had managed to convince Arthur. Of course, he couldn't really refuse her this. Not now…

Fabian and Gideon had been ecstatic at William's birth, and had announced he looked more Weasley than Prewett and teased Molly about how she "hadn't worked hard enough on that lad".

Then Charles had come along, and this time they had congratulated their sister because she had "made that one more Prewett than Weasley", and Arthur had been rather happy to witness his wife unleash her dragon-like rage on her two brothers instead of him.

Percy's birth had made them frantic because of the complications, and they had chided the baby for "endangering our precious, fragile and delicate baby sister" (which had made Molly snort and comment about how she was already more of an adult than them both, earning a rather luminescent blush from the Prewett twins).

Their reaction upon discovering George and Frederick had been hilarious: "just like us, with an extra helping of freckles" … It was obvious they'd be the favoured nephews, everyone could see it coming from a mile. Twins stuck by each other.

Little Ronald had prompted a comment about how the Weasley-Prewett ratio was now balanced, with three babies of each, and they had jokingly told their sister that now would be a good time to consider stopping, because "while we appreciate the sentiment, you can't just repopulate the world with redheads".

And then they had left for yet another mission, given their sister a joyous goodbye, and they had not returned, and they would not be there to keep count of which baby was from which side of the family, and Molly had spent the rest of her pregnancy with tear tracks on her cheeks.

William and Charles were young, but old enough to understand that they would not see their uncles again, and had kept a sombre mood around them, trying to distract the little ones to distract themselves from their crying mother.

Percival obviously tried to comprehend, and he had, in a way, because he never mentioned his two uncles anymore, and he kept busy by reading and making as little a fuss as possible.

Molly kept hugging and kissing her two twins every time she walked into a room, no matter what kind of mischief they had been up to, leaving them probably a little bit confused considering little Ronald was usually crying at these times.

Speaking of Ronnie, he seemed to sense something was very wrong, and kept sneaking to his mother to cling to her legs when she lapsed into the heavy silence that comes with grief.

As usual, the wards and the Silencing Charms were covering the entire place, and the improvised midwives were secluded into the room, and Arthur waited down in the living room with all the little ones. He was battling exhaustion with all his might. His wife had entered labour a few hours ago, and the weight of both stress and anxiety was enough to make him want to collapse.

But then a muffled cry was heard, and his head snapped to the stairs.

Immediately, the entire family took action. William rose to his feet, clutching George, who had stopped struggling and was listening intently. Charles wasn't having the same luck, despite being a little stronger, because Frederick was still trying to elude his grasp. Percival was wobbling slightly, trying to keep Ronald from squirming. Arthur took pity on his third eldest and took charge of Ronnie.

A few minutes later, the door burst open and the midwives were completely ignored by Arthur and his cohort, but it was fine, because the only thing that mattered was that his lovely wife was there in the bed, safe and sound, maybe exhausted, but fine nonetheless, holding a bundle of blankets in her arms.

Molly beamed at them all, despite the heavy bags under her tearful chocolate eyes. "Meet Ginevra Molly Weasley", she announced.

It was a girl.

Arthur's eyes widened.

William and Charles gaped, then released the twins to get a better look at this mysterious creature that wasn't a brother, but a _sister_.

Percival hesitantly scooted closer, knowing the rule of priority to the eldest siblings.

Frederick tucked on George's sleeve, but his twin was distracted by the bundle; thus, he decided to follow the example and took a peek at the bed.

Little Ronald wriggled a bit more in his father's grasp, wanting to look at what had got everyone else so interested, but it took a few minutes for his plea for freedom to be registered. He was put on the bed, close to his new little sister.

She was really tiny, and she was squirming, scrunching up her nose and making noises. She had little wisps of scarlet hair framing her face. Excited whispers were already traveling around her, and she opened a toothless mouth with a little huff of protestation.

 _Ginevra… sister… beautiful, Molly… shorten it to Ginny… baby girl… can't believe it…_

As she began to whimper, the entire family's attention turned to her, and Ronnie was scooped away from this tiny new person he hadn't even said hello to.

 _I'm Bill… Hello, Ginny… our baby sister… your big brother… Ginny… Percival… Ginny… Welcome, Ginny…_

He kept quiet as the whispers grew around him.

 _Maybe she's hungry… think she could be our Seeker… little… Ginny… sister… Ginny… Ginny… maybe scared by all of you… Ginny…_

"'iny", Ron blurted, but he went unheard among the excited chatter.

It was on the eleven of August that Ronald Bilius Weasley met his little sister.


	4. With Dad

**Back with a chapter so fluffy, I used it to guard the Philosopher's Stone.**

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If there was a thing Arthur Weasley enjoyed the most when he was at home on the weekends, it was hearing all the little ones running around in the yard while he tinkered with his Muggle trinkets.

To most of the Wizarding World, it was rubbish, but to him, it was a treasure.

Not only the Muggle contraptions, mind you; his family was worth all the gold of Gringotts. Now that the war had finally abated, now that the darkest wizard of the last decade had blown himself up in his pursuit of power, he could finally savour his complete life with his children and wife, as well as prod his most prized possessions with his wand.

He was very proud of his collection of plugs, that was steadily building. He had about thirty different ones. And batteries! Fascinating things, those batteries, they either gave light or made things spin. They seemed to have all sorts of functions, really. While Wizards tended to invent a spell for one single action, Muggles made all sort of little knickknacks that could be disassembled and repurposed for new, better uses.

So absorbed he was in his observations that he all but jumped out of his skin when he heard a cacophonic noise behind him, that suspiciously sounded like the mysterious device called a 'ventalabor' he'd acquired a few weeks ago crashing to the ground.

Arthur whirled around, his glasses falling back on his nose, and looked down to find a little child sprawled on the ground, his mop of red hair all messed up by the fall, and a bit of dust floating around his limbs.

"Ronald?" the Weasley patriarch asked gently.

And little Ron managed to prop himself up on his palms, revealing a face full of freckles and bits of dirt, the tip of his long nose softly throbbing red. He blinked his big, watering blue eyes, observed his Dad for a second, before letting out a wailing sob.

Arthur immediately sprang into action, kneeling down and giving his son a kiss as he ruffled the red hair. He blindly reached for his wand, found it in his trousers' pocket, and cast a pain-numbing charm on his little boy's hurt nose.

"Now, now", he shushed. "All better."

But Ronnie didn't stop crying. He wasn't wailing with as much intensity as before, but he seemed decidedly unhappy with the current situation. The father gave a weary sigh. Had Fred and George done something to their littlest brother again? It was unlikely, considering these two couldn't keep from laughing – quite loudly – anytime one of their tricks succeeded. Had they put Ron up to this, they'd already be running from their punishment, giggling and cackling all the while.

"What's wrong, Ronnie?" he asked.

Ron's eyes, which had been screwed shut as tears trickled down his dirt-stained cheeks, flew open in what seemed to be apprehension. He batted his eyelids warily, as if judging his father's intentions for asking him such a question. It was a look that very much said "I did a bad thing but please don't ground me", and Arthur almost chuckled, but he didn't. Ron wouldn't tell him anything if he was being laughed at; he was quite sensitive for a three-year-old.

"I felled", the boy said miserably, looking as though he had just confessed to putting Scabbers on fire.

Arthur waited. Ron kept looking up at him, lips wobbling and eyes pleading. A few seconds passed.

"Well, it's not a problem at all", the adult explained gently, still keeping a chuckle at bay. Trust Ron to feel guilty for the littlest inconvenience. "Your nose is all better now."

"But it felled with me!" the boy said stubbornly, thrusting his finger out and pointing at the ventalabor on the ground.

"Did it hurt you?" Arthur asked, now much more concerned. Even though he never brought home the contraptions that had things like blades and hard edges on them, he still knew that most of his children avoided the shed, not having particular interest in Muggle contraptions, and as such he'd never bothered to make it child-proof. It was always locked whenever he wasn't in it, anyway.

"No. I did", Ron answered, looking at the ventalabor. His bottom lip trembled again.

Arthur took a few moments to understand, but then it clicked. "Oh, son, it's perfectly fine", he assured as he gathered the Muggle contraption and put it back on the table where it had sat originally, making sure the long cord that was attached to it was in no danger of catching the feet of unaware children. "Look, it's back in its place now. It's like nothing happened."

Ron sniffled. "B-but I'm in the sed. I can't be in the sed."

"Why not?" Arthur asked, dumbfounded. He didn't remember ever forbidding his children to come in the shed. If that was another one of Percy's so-called 'rules'…

"I wanted to see the shiny things…" Ron began timidly. "But Mum said no because it's no-work day. But I wanted to see…" The youngest Weasley boy duck his head, ashamed, and a fresh wave of little sobs ran through his small body.

"The shiny things?" He worked it out pretty quickly. The most interesting of Muggle artefacts were all built with metal and 'plastec', and it indeed made them look bright in any sort of light. "Ronnie, it's not a problem if you were curious. You can stay with me and look at the shiny things I work with."

"Really?" the toddler asked, his cobalt eyes glistening with tears and hope.

"Of course! I really love it when somebody is interested in what Muggles do, you know. How about we take a look at all of those, eh? Then you can tell me everything you think they're made for!"

Ron nodded his head, sniffled once more, wiped his nose with his little fist, and caught his Dad's trouser leg to make sure he wouldn't fall down again.

They spent the afternoon exploring the treasures Arthur stacked in the shed. Nothing was forgotten, nothing was left away. Ron dug up a bottle made of _plastec_ , touched it gingerly and gasped as it crumpled in his hands, and clapped excitedly when Arthur blew air in it to make it come back to normal; he peered curiously at a 'see-dee' and squealed with delight when he saw all the colours that appeared on its silvery surface; he experimented with a rubber duck, squeezing it and biting it and throwing it in the air as Arthur watched intently, taking notes…

The day went by in a flash, and before father and son knew it, they were called for dinner with everybody else. The two of them spent the entire meal talking about their exploration of the shed with matching wide grins, even though Ronnie's eyes were a little red from his outburst earlier. And even though Fred and George were yawning exaggeratedly, even though Molly shushed them so they could let Percy talk about a story he'd read, Arthur just had to mimic the plastec bottle's reinflation for his youngest son to collapse in giggles.

That night, before Ron was put to bed, he tugged at his Dad's sleeve shyly, and Arthur bent down to hear.

"I think Muggles are really clever. They do magic even when wizards tell them no."

Arthur's chest almost burst with pride; because he too, had seen that Muggles had a magic of their own, and now his son had seen it too.


	5. Numbers

**A smallish chapter, rather drabble-like. Coming up with interactions between every Weasley sibling is hard. x_x**

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"Per… I mean, Char- no Bill, no, Ge- oh, Number Six, pass the marmalade!"

Ron froze, still holding his toast, blinking blearily, and softly raised his blue eyes to meet his sister's demanding look, as Fred and George stifled their laughter.

"Ginny!" his mum scolded over the lack of politeness, but she soon went back to the cooking pots as Ron quietly complied with the little girl's request.

"So, if Ronnie's Number Six, which one of us is Number Four?" George asked with a malicious grin. Ron scowled at the use of the dreaded nickname, but his expression quickly changed to become one of silent worry.

"That would be Fred, sweetheart", Molly said absentmindedly, stirring some sauce with her wand. George, obviously expecting himself to be declared the first twin, was gobsmacked. Fred immediately grinned smugly.

"Well, no matter. Number Five's still halfway to ten", George muttered, and saying this out loud seemed to pacify his disappointment, as he soon regained his usual easy-going smirk. Ron wondered if being a little over halfway to ten was good then.

"So Percy's Number Three, must be why he's trying so hard to be a first class pain in the arse", Fred mused, before snickering and getting an angry "Fred!" from Molly. Ron knew his numbers; six was made of two three, did that mean he was twice as annoying as Percy? He shuddered inwardly.

"And me? I'm Number Seven…" Ginny said, crinkling her brow as she struggled to find herself a logic to make her position special. "What's Number Seven for?" Ron looked up sharply.

"It's considered a lucky number, dear", the Weasley matriarch said as she wiped her hands on her apron, before bending down to grace her seven-year-old daughter with a kiss on the top of her head. She was rewarded by a squirming Ginny and Fred and George making wet noises with their mouths.

No one noticed Ron shifting uneasily on his seat as he racked his brains to remember what was special about being Number Six. Try as he might, he couldn't get the answer.


	6. Birthday

**Happy birthday Ronald Weasley! :D I would have written something super cute and fluffy but the Muse wouldn't have it. Have depressing stuff instead.  
**

 **We're going back to the past with that one because I realized something about Ron's first ever birthday. Without further ado, I'll let you see what I'm talking about.**

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Molly could hear little shrieks and laughter coming from the living room as she placed the candle on the tiny cake.

She huffed in mild annoyance. She knew it was just the pregnancy hormones talking, she had experience in this domain after all… This was just her seventh child, no big deal … Yes, big deal, she could bear it but she'd prefer to bear it with some silence, thank you very much!

And yet she couldn't because that was her littlest one's very first birthday celebration today.

Molly had coddled each one of her youngest children as much as she could. She couldn't help it; she just marvelled over them and practically swooned whenever she spotted the baby of the brood. William – Billy, she liked to call him – had spent his first year and a half in wary arms that had grown more assured every time they wrapped around his wiry frame and had received kisses and daily bedtime stories; her Charlie was a momma's boy through and through, having experienced motherly hugs and pinched chubby cheeks and lullabies during three whole years; Percy was prone to get bad fevers and as such she had fussed over him constantly for his first two years, even while the twins inside of her were kicking and pushing. Of course, once Freddie and Georgie were born, they had obviously needed twice as much attention and kisses and hugs or else they might get jealous of each other.

One year already for her little Ronnie… How time flew fast! She couldn't believe it had been months since she had last breastfed him. He had been a bit of a glutton, too, she thought to herself fondly as she remembered a night when he had completely emptied her of milk then raised expecting blue eyes at her, as if to ask "you do have more, don't you?".

Much as she regretted not being able to share so much time with her son anymore, she couldn't help but be glad that was over, considering how badly her breasts ached.

Molly passed her hand over her stomach, feeling the small yet visible bump there. She hummed softly. "Your big brothers are a rowdy bunch, are they not?" More laughter came from the living room, as if to prove her statement, and she chuckled to herself at the coincidence. "Oh, but they will be very nice to you. I'm sure Ronnie will, too. It's his special day today. Next year you'll celebrate it with him."

Truth be told, she couldn't really think of Ronald as being a big brother just yet, considering how young he was. "Big brother", that was a title better suited to her Charlie, who was always eager to play with his younger siblings, be it outdoors or indoors; or, if talking about what Molly considered to be a "responsible big brother", she'd immediately designate Billy and Percy. Bill's Hogwarts letter had arrived and he had seemed to realize he'd soon be away from his siblings, which had prompted him to hug them more frequently. As for Percy, she had to admit the seriousness he handled his littler siblings with was as impressive as it was hilarious – especially when the mask of maturity broke and he found himself throwing a tantrum for being ignored. He might try to emulate Bill, but in the end, he was still only five years old.

Yet Ron would be a big brother in about five months.

She drew a sharp breath as the sound of something landing – hard – on the floor put an end to her reverie. Arthur's voice, which she had not heard until that point, immediately raised to give gentle admonishments to his children.

Molly gave another angry huff as her previous tranquil mood was washed down the drain again. She was ready to bet it had been Fred and George. These two little hellions had figured out the laws of physics quicker than her other boys, and delighted in making things fall down, especially if they made a lot of noise while doing so.

She walked through the door, bristling, her hormones-fuelled temper ready to make itself known.

"FREDERICK! GEORGE!"

Silence immediately fell upon the seven males gathered in the room. Charlie was seated closest to his littlest brother in the big sofa, a smirk of mirth quickly disappearing from his face at the sight of his mother. Percy was looking halfway between triumphant and terrified; Bill was perfectly immobile, cradling a decorative cauldron in his arms – which Molly quickly understood was the twins' victim this time; speaking of those two, they were guiltily glancing at each other as their Dad had his hands on their shoulders. Finally, Ronnie seemed a little shaken by all these loud noises.

"You two", she began, eyes narrowed and nostrils flared, "will NOT take this" – she gestured to her bump – "as an opportunity to cause even more ruckus in this house than usual. We're all tired, sore, angry, we are all at risk, and I want you all to be calm and be good boys, if not for me, THEN AT LEAST FOR YOUR FUTURE SIBLING, UNDERSTAND?!"

She was pretty sure her blood pressure had risen drastically, and forced herself to steady her breathing; however, a sudden wail made her stop on the spot.

Ronnie, bewildered by the unexpected appearance of his mother, had been even more startled by her righteous maternal rage, and had expressed his fright the only way babies could: by crying.

For a second Molly was suspended in limbo, not knowing if she should get even angrier at her son for turning the silence she had hoped for into even more noise, or if she should start blubbering along with her youngest child. Yet another marvel of pregnancy.

All the Weasleys just stood there in unison, looking at the smallest of the brood, his little face all red and contorted, his body slack, all his energy being used by his powerful lungs and tear-filled eyes. Charlie was glancing imploringly at his parents as he awkwardly fingered Ronnie's shoulder, not knowing how to comfort him; Percy looked absolutely horrified, like he'd been looking when he had lost his grasp on one of his storybooks and it had fallen in the mud; Bill was holding onto the cauldron for dear life, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot; Fred and George were, for the first time in their short lives, looking as though they were actually experiencing regret. Arthur's blue eyes met his wife's brown ones, and they shared one of these silent conversations people with a special bond could have without speaking at all, just through a series of minuscule gestures unnoticeable to anyone but them.

Arthur picked up Ron, making soothing noises as Molly disappeared back into the kitchen; all the brothers gathered timidly in a corner, Bill still holding the decorative cauldron as though it were a shield. However, not matter how much Arthur whispered and hushed, the littlest Weasley kept on wailing, proving he had inherited his mother's lung capacity.

She had made her little boy cry. And not just any of them – the birthday boy. The day of celebration, of gratefulness as she remembered how he came to live, and she had caused him to cry because of her own irrelevant anger.

Molly felt like a wretched mother.

She could only grab the chocolate cake and return to the main room. Immediately Fred and George's faces lifted up curiously – it smelled good. A nice round cake, sweet and moist. Simple pleasures like family and tasty food, when it was so cold and dark outside, when a birthday felt like another day on a calendar.

This was a war, she was carrying a child, and her littlest son was crying.

Maybe she held no power over this world drenched in shadows, but at least she could make the world a bit sweeter for her little boy on this day.

She put the cake on the table, took Ronnie from Arthur's arms, and her husband immediately went to put the cauldron back where it belonged and shush the children.

Molly hummed as she petted her youngest's soft red hair, and was very surprised when he calmed down almost instantly, his sobbing fading into whimpers. Few more minutes, and the angry red blotches on his face disappeared. Sniffling, the babe kept looking at his Mum with big sad blue eyes.

"It's okay, darling", she cooed, holding him close to her. "Look."

She settled him on her lap, his back turned to her stomach, and placed the lukewarm chocolate cake on her legs.

Ronnie whimpered again, not knowing what his mother expected of him, wondering why she had stopped embracing him; then his tiny hand encountered the cake's surface, and he looked at it, puzzled.

"It's chocolate", she murmured as she drew soothing circles on his little shoulders. "Chocolate cake for your birthday, Ronnie, here…"

Molly picked a bit of the cake, and held it in front of her son.

From the sidelines, all the other boys watched intently, Arthur with an encouraging smile, Bill and Charlie keeping the twins from running around, Percy nervously wringing his hands.

Ron looked at the piece of cake, blinked, then did what all toddlers do when faced with something new: he made a grab for it and stuffed it in his mouth.

The room held its breath.

And little eager fingers plunged back into the cake's crust, ending up covered in chocolate, as the youngest Weasley son licked and munched on his birthday treat, observed by his content yet tired mother, and the tension in the room dissipated.

Arthur sat down on the couch and took Ron on his lap, causing him to let out a whine as he was pried away from his cake, but soon enough the plate followed and he was back on eating it up.

Molly stood up to give her sons another tired smile. Frederick and George had sat down on the ground, and they were actually being quiet. Percival was hovering close to them, a comically serious expression on his young face, obviously intent on keeping the two little monsters tame. Charles returned to the couch, laughing at Ron's increasingly chocolate-covered face, and Bill surveyed the room, giving his Mum a smile as she left for her bedroom.

Once she reached the bed, she gave a grateful sigh, feeling at peace at last. She was a bit sad to miss out on the rest of her youngest son's birthday, but as she looked at her round stomach, she couldn't help but be relieved she was in her bed.

She drifted off to sleep, smiling as she remembered her sons' birthday parties, and the many others that would come soon enough.


	7. Chess

**Hey, what kind of Ron-ficer would I be if I didn't put chess in there? Enjoy!**

 **My headcanon for Wizard's Chess is a little weird, but I hope you'll have fun reading it.**

* * *

The pieces were completely still, not moving an inch, perfectly disciplined, organized as neatly as Percival's room and sock drawers. He really liked the game's strict set of rules: there were no nasty surprises or punishments like with Gobstones or Exploding Snap. There was no luck factor either: if you lost, it was entirely your fault for not being intelligent enough in the first place.

Dad had taught Bill to play, Bill had taught Percy because Charlie didn't like to stay still when he played, and Percy couldn't teach Fred and George because they refused to play separately and that counted as cheating; as such, he had decided to teach his littlest brother instead.

Ronnie was sitting cross-legged in front of him, visibly waiting for something to happen. The nine-year old had already explained the rules and the way the pieces moved; they were currently on their fifth turn. Percival had made the younger child play the white side, since it was this side that started the game. He reckoned, since he was quite good at chess, that Ron would need all the advantages he'd get.

"It's boring", the five-year old declared with a frown. "Can they do something fun?"

Percy almost let out an outraged squeak at this but decided to lecture his foolish little brother about the beauty of such a complex and well-rounded game instead of getting angry; however, the opportunity was denied to him by none other than the chess set itself.

"How dare you!" the black Queen gasped indignantly, startling Ronnie. "This is a battlefield, where strong warriors duel and destroy each other without mercy on the order of their commanders! We are no mountebanks, we fight, not entertain, you zoilist!"

Percy's glasses almost fell out of his face. He stared wide-eyed and mouth gaping at the little black Queen, who was full-on ranting about the "mistreatment" she was receiving at the hands of the "ungrateful lout" she accused Ron of being. Of course, the third eldest Weasley immediately snatched the Queen off the board, hoping to silence her before she said an insult his little brother would actually understand – and feel hurt by.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry Ronnie, we don't have to play, don't worry, I'll find another game –"

But Ron extended his little hand towards Percy's fist, the one curled around the abuse-shouting figurine.

"Can I have her?" he asked, not taking his attention off the chess piece.

The nine-year old hesitated, clutching the squirming Queen closer to him. Fred and George tended to destroy pretty much everything that got the best of them, with the exception of their brooms; they didn't like being played for fools. Ginny was prone to throwing things against the walls when she got angry about them. He had never seen Ron have a full-blown temper tantrum but he certainly didn't want to be the instigator of one…

"Perce?" Ron asked once more. His head was cocked to the side and his big blue eyes were glistening alarmingly, which caused his big brother to immediately surrender everything, dignity, wariness and chess piece included, in order to keep his emotional little brother from keening.

"Unhand me, you little monster!" the black Queen screeched with obvious panic.

Ronnie was holding her firmly, but soon put her in his palm and brought her to eye level. Percival's heart skipped a beat as he remembered that the Queen had a sword and might try to poke his brother's eye out, but luckily, she did no such thing; she merely stepped back, fearful, until she was standing on the tips of Ron's tiny fingers.

"Can we play, Percy?"

The question startled the older child, just as it flabbergasted the enchanted chess piece; nonetheless, the board was soon put in place, Percy reexplained the way the pieces moved just in case Ron hadn't listened the first time, and so they began their match again; only this time, Ron was playing black.

Soon enough however, his little brother gave a little huff of disappointment, attracting the black Queen's glare. Most of the black pieces rolled their eyes or sighed, which caused the five-year old to raise his head with interest.

The first pawns began to fall, bowing their heads ceremoniously and walking off the board without much fuss; Ron seemed absolutely fascinated at first, but after his third conquest, he was back to pouting expectantly and sighing longingly. The Queen kept shooting him angry looks.

Percival was growing uncomfortable with the unexpected tension between player and piece.

The game kept going until something quite incredible happened.

Percy's bishop was right in the enemy Queen's path, and the regal piece was tapping her foot impatiently on the board, obviously waiting for her little master's command. Ron was completely ignoring her however, much to the chagrin of the figurine.

"Oh, out with it, child!" she suddenly spoke, causing Percy to start yet again; he wasn't used to the pieces being so expressive. "Have you not seen this yellow-bellied rapscallion standing in my way? Let me take him out of his misery!"

At this the bishop bristled. "You dare call me a coward? I have fought honourably since my carving day! I shall not be insulted by the likes of the slattern you are!"

The Queen gave an offended shriek and spun on her heels, facing Ron in earnest. Percy absentmindedly noted that his little brother seemed absolutely delighted by this turn of events.

"Commander! I demand you slaughter this jobbernowl at once!"

The young child grinned, blue eyes glinting in mirth. "Queen to G-3."

The regal woman turned back to the bishop, a ferocious smile on her face, and strode grandly to him, eliminating him from the game. The white piece sputtered indignantly, shouting "My companions shall avenge me! Our battle is far from lost!" before leaving the board.

It was at that moment Ron burst into giggles and began clapping wildly, causing his pieces to stare at him in shock. Percy himself had no idea what was happening, but he still made his own move, not really looking at what he was doing. He was too busy being baffled by his little brother's behaviour. The black Queen, however, seemed rather pleased with herself.

"Knight to B-4!" Ron announced with a proud grin.

However, the little boy's happy expression soon melted away when his knight began to walk quietly to his prey – a pawn Percy had neglected – and they began to exchange curt bows of the head…

"Heavens", the black Queen interjected once more, addressing her subject this time, "haven't you understood? Entertain him!"

The knight stood dumbfounded. Percival could sympathize.

"Um… Um…" the horseman sputtered before raising his blade. "Well, uh – quiver before me, peasant! And… And abandon your position! Yes, leave! Now!"

The white pawn looked over the knight's head as he was being threatened, finding an eagerly expecting little boy smiling in anticipation of what would come next. As such, the magic that animated the figurine had the most brilliant idea for the next part: it played along.

The pawn dropped to his knees, at the great surprise of his commander. Ronnie's grin grew wider.

"O, cruel, cruel fate! Horrible destiny! Tragic… fate… um, no, um – ah, I die, I succumb, I am killed, and it's all over for me!" With this, the pawn put a hand to his throat, made a surprisingly good gurgling sound – considering he didn't have an oesophagus – and fell on his back in front of Ron's knight. Then he used his legs to propel himself away from the board.

Ronnie was clapping and laughing harder than ever.

And from now on, every time Ron asked Percival for a chess match – always running up to his older brother with a joyous grin on his face – they would find themselves playing with the pieces as much as they played with each other. Whenever Ron played, the pieces would suddenly liven up, taunt each other and get away from the board with a flourish.

Percy could barely believe it, but Ron had turned Grandpa's chess set into some sort of tactical theatre. He would have his little face all scrunched up in concentration as he thought up his next move, then he'd get this big smile and laugh as the pieces enacted funny scenes for the pleasure of those watching the match.

Percy would have very much liked to put his numerous defeats on the count of these awfully distracting pieces… But to be fair, if his little brother had turned into such a chessmaster, it was probably because he learned best – and quickest – when he was having fun.

By the time Ron was seven, nobody in the family could beat him at chess anymore, so he started to play against himself. They'd hear him laugh louder and louder as his little tactical theatre would play before himself – and give each other bemused smiles, wondering how the boy had managed to tame the old chess set and give it this whole new youth.


	8. Gone

**I'm so sorry I haven't published anything in like, forever. I have so many bits and pieces of chapters already written, but I just can't seem to weave them all together - it's so frustrating!**  
 **Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to my darling Ushuaïa. I love you, my fuzzy lady.**

* * *

"Charlie?" a little voice piped up.

The twelve-year old boy turned away from his History of Magic schoolwork with great relief. He'd been home for a full month now, but even away from Hogwarts, it was as if Binns' homework itself was charmed to plunge students into a perpetual state of drowsiness. He would definitely not be taking History of Magic for his N.E.W.T.s, that much was a given. Pushing aside his parchment, he got up from his chair and walked to the door.

A sniffle made him stop abruptly, and he bit back a sigh.

It had to be Ron. For the third time this week. And it was only Tuesday!

Charles liked his little brother very much, don't get him wrong, but Ronnie was kind of a handful these days, always seeking him out at the slightest problem. For some odd reason, he seemed scared of Bill. Or wary, at the very least. Ron had always been a bit on the shy, daydreaming side. Even though he was four and had mastered the art of walking long ago, he moved as if he was still a newborn, tripping over thin air and landing on his face. He was just… too much of a clumsy cry-baby for his own good.

"Charlie?" Ron whimpered from the other side of the door.

Ah, hell, his little brother might be clingier than a limpet, and much too needy, but just hearing his pleading voice, you'd think somebody had just died or something. Forgetting his "tough big bro" façade, Charles opened his door to see what the problem was.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw the twins, silent and solemn, George looking very worried – what the f… – and Fred with his head hanging low, his mouth pressed into a firm line. Okay this was bad: the twins were _never_ silent, ever, it was some sort of rule of the universe that they made as much noise as a herd of rutting hippogriffs when they moved round the house; and second…

And second…

Charlie's eyes fell to Ronnie, whose face was red, bottom lip quivering like mad, and whose pleading big blue eyes were very, very shiny. And in his little hands, he was cradling a ball of red-stained cream fur…

Charles' jaw dropped.

"What the fuck? What happened?" he asked, kneeling down to inspect Ronnie's bloodied Puffskein. "What did you do to him?"

Ron sniffled, opened his mouth, closed it, opened it and let out a loud wail as big fat tears started to pour down his face. Shite, shite, shite…

"Okay, Ronnie, it's fine, I'm not mad, um, what's happened, Ronnie, please?" Charlie tried to whisper in a gentle way, like Mum or Dad would do. The problem was that Ron wasn't fooled at all and his hands began to tremble as he cried even worse.

"Stop crying, tell me what's going on!" He hadn't meant to sound so harsh but he knew from experience that once the waterworks started, Ronnie could go on for hours, and not necessarily in the loud way. Especially at night, when he had his nightmares about evil spiders under his bedsheets, Ronnie just… showed up at Charlie's door, sniffling quietly.

But now he was being anything but quiet.

Ron's tears dripped on his Puffskein's blood-stained fur. George was squirming uncomfortably, casting the odd glance at Fred. As for said Fred, he seemed to have acquired a strange fascination for the floorboards.

"Puffy", Ron managed to speak through hiccups. "Puffy's not move. You fix it, Charlie?"

The pleading, desperate look in the poor kid's eyes made him regret every thought he had about annoying and clingy little siblings.

Right, now he was getting hacked off. And not at his little brother, but at his _other_ little brothers.

"What did you two do?" Charles hissed as he put his hands on Ron's back, and the little one immediately burrowed in his chest, still cradling his dead pet in his hands.

Because there was no mistaking it, Puffy the Puffskein was dead. Or was it Milly the Puffskein… or Jimmy… He couldn't remember, Ron changed its name every week, but what Charlie knew for sure was that Ron adored his little companion and that he'd be abso-bloody-lutely inconsolable over it for days, if not weeks.

And the culprit had to be the twins, going by their guilty looks.

George opened his mouth first.

"We din't mean to do that", he mumbled hurriedly. "We wanted to p'actise."

"Practice?" Charlie repeated as he understood even less.

"Bludjer", Fred grumbled. "There was no Bludjers so we took other things."

Charlie blinked once. Twice. Looked at the little tyke still sobbing his heart out in his arms.

A searing anger burned its way through his heart up to his mouth.

"Why the _fuck_ would you do that for?!" he growled. "Why didn't you use apples like when I showed you? Thought it'd be funny, didn't you?"

"Ron started it!" Fred defended. "He bringed Puffy and told us to make it fly!"

His youngest brother wailed. "I wan' – on the broom – with 'im –"

Fred and George both opened their mouths, probably for a smartarse retort, but Charles couldn't bother with their idiocy right now. As the strongest of his brothers, he had earned some sort of authority over the twin terrors through many a scuffle. Therefore, when he drew himself up, scooping Ron in his arms, he was satisfied to see the two little berks practically cowering from him.

"Go to your rooms. I'll tell Mum about your stupid stunt later."

The two six-years old wasted no time in scampering – probably already thinking of some place to hide their brooms so Mum wouldn't be able to confiscate them. Brats.

Another sob broke Charlie's train of thought, and he looked down at his baby brother. The sight of little Ronnie bawling his heart out into the soft cream fur of his deceased pet, begging him to fix the poor fuzzball, made his throat feel unpleasantly tight.

How could he explain that his Puffskein wouldn't wake up, ever?

How do you say that to a kid?

He couldn't do this. He already felt guilty for what he was about to do, but he just… couldn't stand the heartbroken look on his youngest brother's face. He didn't want to upset him even more.

"A-alright, Ron, you're gonna be a big boy, okay, no more crying, or I won't be able to fix Puffy, right?"

Ron's mouth immediately snapped shut. His lips were wobbling dangerously but he was keeping them firmly clamped. Charlie felt a surge of pride in his youngest sibling.

"Great. That's great. Now, you put him…" Charlie scanned his room hurriedly, and grabbed a pair of pyjama trousers he'd left on the floor. "There, so he's good and comfy."

The care and gentleness in the movements of his usually clumsy baby brother as he lowered his pet's body into the makeshift shroud made the teenager's eyes sting.

"Right. And now… well, you leave him to me. I'll have him patched up tomorrow… Promise."

Ron nodded, a hopeful smile on his face. Charles squashed the unpleasant feeling in his insides and pulled the little one into a hug. They stayed like that for a long time, him just holding his brother, until Mum's voice called the entire family for dinner.

* * *

That evening, Charlie goes out in the orchard and starts digging. He thought he'd get it done in ten minutes, but it turns out that dirt gets really solid when it's cold outside. It takes him much longer than he thought it would to make a deep enough hole under the apple trees.

He sighs as he contemplates the soon-to-be grave. Hopefully Ronnie and Ginny won't try to dig too deep next time they play treasure hunt.

He somehow feels mature and stupid at the same time. On one hand, he's burying a body, on the other, it's just a Puffskein, a silly little animal that isn't especially cool or useful. But it was Ron's Puffskein, and Ron liked that little fuzzball, and he's going to be even sadder tomorrow when Charlie tells him that Puffy escaped during the night.

At least Ron will be able to imagine his fuzzy friend having all sorts of adventures in the wilderness, instead of dead and rotting away because of stupid Fred and George and their stupid carelessness.

Puffy buried, Charles stays still for a minute, not really knowing what to do or what to say. He settles for giving a pat to his makeshift grave, as if congratulating the earth for doing a good job.

The following morning, Ron's crying fit lasts for a bit longer than he expects, but he manages to calm his little brother down with tales of how he last saw Puffy on the back of a dragon, riding to lands unknown, and soon enough Ron is spouting them back to everyone in the house, adding more details, creating new stories of Puffy's adventures altogether.

Fred and George, who'd usually be the first ones to tell him to shut up, keep their mouths shut.

And if Mum looks suspiciously at Charlie, at least she looks at Ron with fondness, pats his head and tells him how interesting his story is and how he should ask Percy to write it down for him.

Charlie knows he's going to get an earful, the twins probably will too, but at least his little brother isn't sad anymore.

So he reckons it's a good thing.


	9. Future

**Couldn't let Ron's birthday pass by without making a little something, could I?**

* * *

It had been hell all day.

Trust Mum and Dad to have an official Ministry party the employees were forced to put together _then_ attend, and for the only babysitter available to be him.

Him, William Weasley, or as he preferred to be called, Bill, fresh back from his fourth year of Hogwarts, needing to focus on his future O.W.L.s, and his prat of a slightly littler brother Charlie had evaded baby-time duty by getting invited to a friend's. Of bloody course.

At least he still had Percy, he had thought, littler than Charlie but he was very obedient and very eager to help his big brother, right?

Well… right, but oh so wrong at the same time.

Percy wasn't what they called a "natural leader". He might use a big voice and complicated words and stomp his foot, but the eight-year old's authority did not seem to hold much power over his siblings.

Especially over the twins.

Bill had had to run himself ragged all over the house, chasing the two little hellions, who were delighted to be free of their mother's reign – because Mum could, and would, occasionally use Sticking Charms to keep Fred and George's bottoms firmly anchored to a chair.

But being a fourteen years-old wizard with the Trace on him, Bill was most definitely not allowed to do that.

The tasks had naturally attributed themselves: Percy would keep little Ronnie and Ginny out of trouble, and Bill would wrestle the twin menaces into submission.

It had taken him the better part of three hours but finally, at last, some peace.

Now, each twin squiggling under one arm, Bill was able to sit down and watch how Percy was faring with his youngest siblings, and the answer was, not badly at all.

" _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , huh?" Bill smiled as he recognized the ending of _The Wizard and the Hopping Pot_.

"Yes!" Percy beamed. "I thought I'd read them _The Fountain Of Fair Fortune_ next."

"I want _Babbitty Rabbitty_!" Ron protested.

"No, no, _Fountain_!" Ginny said.

Percy looked pleadingly at his big brother. Bill sighed.

"Okay, we'll start with the _Fountain_ and then I'll read _Babbitty Rabbitty_ , okay?"

Ron pouted but resigned himself to wait for his favourite story.

Once he had gone over the book – and carefully skipped over _The Warlock's Hairy Heart_ , the first story ever to give him nightmares, Bill had to find dozens of ways to entertain his gaggle of siblings. Quidditch was out of the question since Mum had explicitly forbade it, so that left Gobstones or Exploding Snap – and Exploding Snap was also too much a hazard to be played with little kids, so Gobstones it was.

As usual, the game quickly turned to chaos and running around the room to gather some marbles that had rolled too far under the furniture, which gave Fred and George the opportunity to finally exhaust their energy for the day.

So, they switched to the question game.

They just took turns asking and answering questions, sometimes reusing one when they didn't have any other idea.

"Ginny, what do you want to be once you're an adult?" Bill asked, the threat of his O.W.L.s still a concern in his mind.

"A Quidditch player!" she piped up.

"No way you can be a Quidditch player", Fred said. "You don't know how to play!"

"Can too!"

"Can not!"

"Can too!"

"Can not!"

Bill quickly went for damage control.

"And you, Percy, what do you want to do once you're an adult?"

They all knew the answer already.

"Minister for Magic!" George said as if the words themselves left an unpleasant taste on his tongue.

"Percy wanna rule the world!" Fred booed.

"And once I'm Minister for Magic", Percy said with the utmost seriousness, which was frankly uncanny for an eight-years old, "I'll make you two scrub my bedroom everyday if you make fun of me."

George looked scandalized.

"We won't! We won't scrub your bedroom! It's full of stuffy germs!"

"Don't want to get infected with Percitis!" Fred added.

"But you'll have to", Percy said. "I'll make it a law and you can't break the laws or else you're punished!"

"Well we'll change your stupid laws!" Fred claimed smugly. "We'll write them again and make it wrong for you to boss us around."

Bill couldn't really contain his laughter at the idea that his little brothers were actually planning the rise and fall of an entire government before his eyes. Well, they did say you had to dream big.

That made him remember that one last dream wasn't known. Interrupting Fred and Percy's squabble, he looked over at Ron.

"And you, Ron? What'd you want to do when you're older?"

His little brother frowned.

"I wanna be a Quidditch player –"

"That's my idea!" Ginny said, distraught. "Not fair! You can't copy! It's mine!"

"Ron can be a Quidditch player if he wants to, it's alright", Bill attempted, but Ginny's bottom lip was quivering.

Kids and their moods…

"S'okay", Ron said hastily. "I'm not gonna be a Quidditch player, Gin-Gin."

"Really?" she sniffled. Ron nodded, smiling, and she returned his smile.

"Then what do you want to be?" Bill tried again.

"I…" He gaped for a few seconds, then lowered his eyes to his lap. "I dunno…"

"It's alright", Bill hurried to add, "you don't have to know right away. You're still a kid."

"Am not!" Ron pouted, before turning his gaze back down.

He'd long outgrown the childish "am not / are too" wards, so William didn't correct his littlest brother. Instead, he organized one last Gobstone match, which George won, attempted to settle the quarrel between Fred and George over whether the victory counted for both of them or not, and then sent them all to bed.

All in all, a really, really tiresome day.

He liked his little siblings, he did, but he liked them even more when they were peaceful and quiet, when he didn't have to drive himself spare trying to solve five different problems at once.

Exhausted, Bill plopped down in the sofa with relish, ready to wait for his parents' return and ready to send any little late-night trespasser back to bed if need was.

Of course, the comfy sofa was doing nothing to help him stay awake.

Just as he was starting to drift off, surprisingly strong little hands gripped his arm and began to shake him like one of Ginny's ragdolls.

"I know! I know! I know what I wanna do when I'm adult!" Ron chirped, blue eyes sparkling and a smile as large as a mile on his freckled little face.

"Good, that's good", Bill groaned wearily, rubbing his eyes.

"When I'm grow up, I'll marry Babbitty Rabbitty", Ron said excitedly.

This would make for a precious teasing opportunity once Ron got older, but right now Bill only wanted one thing and that thing was a nice, long nap. "Good, good", he yawned.

Unfortunately for Bill, a happy Ron was a chatty Ron. "She's clever, and she can be a bunny. I'm gonna be married with her!"

"That's great, Ron", Bill slurred as sleep overtook him again. "Tell tha' to Mum an' Dad, alrigh'? T'morrow. Now it's sleepy."

"I don't wanna!" Ron protested, but it was too late, his big brother was already dead to the world, head lolling back on the couch. The little boy huffed and stepped down on the carpet.

Then he grinned broadly to himself.

After all, he now knew he was going to marry Babbitty Rabbitty one day.


	10. Tears

**An important chapter for Ron's general characterization.**

* * *

"Cat's got your tongue, Ronniekins? You should know better than to tattle-tell on us!"

He was crying, crying because oh it hurt, it hurt so much! His whole mouth was full of horrible fire and it was so painful he couldn't think, he just let his mouth wide open in a desperate hope to have something that would cool down his smouldering tongue.

"Oh come on, it's just an Acid Pop, what the hell!"

He was crying, he could feel his tears, he could hear his scream of pain broken by shuddering sobs. He couldn't even hear Fred's taunts anymore. There was only the maddening pain throbbing in his jaw and tongue, the heat in his entire mouth, the cold air over his tearful eyes.

"I can't believe it, what a sissy!"

He was crying, again. Ickle Ronnie cry-baby, as always. He couldn't stop. He hated it. He was sick of always crying. Bill had told him crying never helped. It didn't make the bad things go away. Bill knew, Bill was right, he knew so many things, and here Ron was still crying.

He gasped for breath, but he was choked by the horrible candy Fred and George had forced him to eat. Would Charlie have cried? No, he would have taken the twins by their collars and hollered at them. Charlie was brave and strong, and when you're brave and strong you don't cry.

He wanted to claw at his mouth so he could toss the candy away, but something instinctual was telling him to not do anything. No chewing, no swallowing, no spitting or everything would worsen. He was shivering, whimpering, and he remembered how Percy had told him that it was exactly the kind of thing the twins wanted, and that he should learn to just ignore it. He shouldn't cry, he should be ignoring them.

Fred and George did seem to love see him cry. He had tried, oh he had tried to ignore them so they'd go away. But now his tongue was burning, ablaze with pain, and he didn't know how to ignore that, and he cried, and he was Ickle Ronnie cry-baby.

He was vaguely aware, through the harsh veil of tears that blurred the world, that somebody was shrieking alongside him, and he realized in horror that his sister was here, witnessing him being a baby, and she was crying, but she had the right to cry, because she was a little girl and not supposed to be a big boy.

Crying made Ginny cry…

This, this was the thought that snapped him out of it.

"Fred… Fred, I think something's wrong…"

Oh, he still had the tear tracks on his cheeks, he still had the runny nose and the blotched face, but he wasn't crying anymore. His mouth was still hanging half-open as slightly corrosive saliva slowly made its way to his chin and burned it, but his fists clenched. His eyes were puffy and red, but they narrowed as a newfound spark lit his blue irises.

"Erm, Ronnie…? Show me your… mouth…"

He was angry. Furious, even.

"Fuck, Mum's gonna kill us…!"

Because it was Fred who had given him that Acid Pop and George who had done nothing to stop it and it was Fred and George who had made him cry and thus it was Fred and George that had made Ginny sad.

"Shit, shit, go get some healing potions or something!"

But as Fred began to dash towards the house, the air began to shiver and ripple with power, and his feet didn't land on the ground anymore. He was suspended in mid-air, arse-over-head, and George was, too, hanging upside-down and levitating, as a strong gust of wind made Ron's hair bristle like an angry flame.

It wasn't the first time Ron displayed accidental magic, but it was usually much more subdued than this. It was little things like a cookie flying to his palm or his scraped knee being fine the next morning. But never this.

His accusing eyes were focused on the twins, his mouth still hanging halfway open as the Acid Pop dissolved with his tongue. He might have looked funny if his entire behaviour didn't scream "I've had enough". The twins squirmed, hoping to get their own innate magic to react and free them, but it seemed that this time, Lady Luck had given up on them.

However, someone did come to their rescue, but it wasn't even Mum.

Ginny was clapping and cheering, the tear tracks on her face forgotten as she openly laughed at her brothers. And not just any of them, she was gleefully laughing _at_ Fred and George. Fred and George, who were never laughed at, because they made it their mission to laugh at everybody else before anyone could get to them. But Ginny was laughing and bouncing and squealing "Funny Ronnie" and then Ron seemed to snap out of his trance.

He looked at Ginny. He looked at the twins. Then at Ginny again, and suddenly the wind dropped, and so did Fred and George, landing face-first on the grass. The twins fumbled to get back up, not sure whether they should run away very fast or slide away stealthily. Once their bodies finally settled on getting up, they were welcomed back by the sight of their little sister still giggling and Ron smiling, wincing with pain, snot and salt still on his face, but smiling at her.

It took a full week for the twins to stop jumping away from Ron every time he frowned and narrowed his eyes, and at the end of this week, the youngest Weasley boy had come to the very logical conclusion that being angry was much better than crying. Fred and George didn't seem to be so bold once he got mad.

So Ron thought that every time he felt like crying, he should just get angry instead. And from this moment on, that's what he did.


End file.
